


After the Endgame

by geekyjez



Series: Isii Lavellan [52]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Demons, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Moving On, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Post-breakup, after the game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Defeating Corypheus isn't the end of Isii Lavellan's story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rough Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the approach of Trespasser, I figured I'd start writing about what Isii's life has been since the end of Inquisition. Here's a look at one night, a few months after the endgame.
> 
> Though it's not required to understand this piece, the fic [Still Hurting](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3262205) takes place between the end game and this story.

“You had the right idea all along,” Isii said, licking the liquored burn from her lips. “Sex with no strings. Easy and simple.” She lifted her drink, the din of the tavern fading further with each sip. “Simple is good. I like simple.”

Iron Bull shrugged. “Always worked for me.”

“I should have just hopped into your bed when you offered,” she grumbled. Dorian sputtered on his drink.

“You _what?_ ”

Bull laughed. “I figured you didn’t remember that little conversation, boss.”

“I wasn’t _that_ drunk,” Isii said, a subtle bitterness in her throat as she stared down at her cup, worrying the lip with her finger. “Guess that ship sailed, huh?”

Bull eyed Dorian who was quick to respond. “Oh please. Don’t act as if I’m tying you down.” The Qunari smirked, lips parting, quickly silenced as the Tevinter’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever clever thing you’re about to say - _don’t_.”

Bull muffled his laughter into his drink.

Isii’s gaze was distant as she stared into her cup, drawing further away as her brows furrowed. “I don’t know why I bothered with anything else. It’s not like I’ve ever been with anyone long-term. It was stupid to think that I could… that _he_ would…” She paused, her voice catching. She could feel their eyes on her, the weight of their concern making her throat feel tight. She hated this. It made her feel stupid and weak. It had been months since Solas disappeared. She should be over it by now. It wasn’t as if they were still together when he left. He said he would stay until Corypheus was defeated and apparently he’d been a man of his word. The second that happened, he was gone.

Most of the time she could throw on a smile and act as if everything was fine. She was well-versed in that deception long before he came into her life.

Alcohol didn’t help her facade.

She swallowed her feelings with the last of her rum. “Nevermind,” she grumbled.

The two men shared a look. She could hear the tension in their silence and it made her stomach roil. Isii pushed her chair back, leaning against the table as she steadied her feet beneath her. “I think that’s my cue,” she said, forcing a weak attempt at a smile. “I’m calling it a night.”

“Want me to walk you back to your room?” Dorian asked. She could hear his concern and it made her jaw clench.

“No,” she said flatly, turning toward the door. “Pretty sure I know the way by now.” She hadn’t intended to snap at him, regretting her tone as soon as it left her lips, but she didn’t pause to correct herself. She needed to be alone. The trip to the tavern was supposed to lift her spirits, but she’d mucked that up too by opening old wounds.

It was the bad end to a bad day. Sleep would help.

Iron Bull watched her leave, letting out a slow breath as his brow lowered. Dorian glanced at him curiously. “You wouldn’t actually sleep with her, would you?”

He shrugged. “Maybe, if that’s what she really wanted. But that’s not what she needs.”

“And you presume to know better than she does what she needs?”

Bull smirked. “Kind of my job.” He huffed, lifting his tankard. “Or was, anyway,” he added as an afterthought before drinking. He fixed his eye on the mage, studying his face. “Would it bother you if I did?”

Dorian’s lips twisted dismissively. “I’m under no delusions that you and I are exclusive. Do whatever you want.” But even through the casual tone and the brush of his hand, Bull could see the subtle crease in his brow, the way the back of his neck tensed ever-so-slightly. He watched the mage for a moment before muffling a small _hmph_ into his drink.

Dorian arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bull said, draining his tankard. “Just making an observation.”

_***_

_“Vhenan.”_

Isii felt the word as he breathed it onto the back of her neck, her eyes flying open at the sound of his voice. She rolled over quickly, her throat catching. “Solas?”

His face warmed into a sad smile as she stared at him in shock. He was there. There, in her room, lying beside her as if nothing had changed. The same worn tunic, the same scent of herbs and cold rain, the same blue eyes that gazed lovingly into her own. Her brow furrowed, sinuses stinging. “It’s been _months_ ,” she hissed. “Where in the Void have you been? How did you even get in here without-”

He gently shushed her, his hand softly cupping her cheek as he leaned down. His lips met hers and she shuddered. “No,” she snapped, already missing the warmth of him as she pushed against his chest. “I need answers.”

“And you shall have them,” he whispered. Remorse thickened his voice as he studied her face, his head tilting. “I am sorry, vhenan. I cannot be with you now, no matter how badly I wish I could.”

She frowned, her eyes scanning the room before settling on him once more. “This is the Fade?”

He nodded, his expression both pained and longing. “This is the only way I could see you,” he murmured. He touched her again, brushed a curl from her brow as his finger gently followed the curve of her cheek. _“You are so beautiful,_ ” he whispered and she felt her throat clench.

“Why?” she asked, her voice wavering. “Why did you-”

Her words were cut off, consumed as he kissed her once more. It was warm and soft, delicate and reverent and exactly how she remembered it. She whimpered, eyes growing wet as his fingers curled around her ear, angling her head back against his touch and she melted into it.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, vhenan. Arasha. Ma sal’shiral. Ma uthlath.” The endearments were honey on his tongue, soothing as they sank into her. “I was a fool,” he whispered. “I never should have left you. I never should have hurt you.”

“Solas-”

“Forgive me.” The apology slipped against her skin as he brushed her lips with his own. “Forgive me, Isii. _Please._ Let me make it up to you.”

He kissed her again, drawing her body close, shifting until she lay beneath him and she could not help but wrap her arms around him. His kiss was intoxicating, a drug she had been missing for so long and now that she could taste it again she didn’t want to let go. She needed answers, she needed to understand, but more than anything she just needed him. She needed to feel him again, to take the comfort he offered, to find some answer for the lingering question his absence had left behind. “I will give you everything,” he sighed, tucking his face against her throat. “ _Anything you desire._ Simply ask and I will make it so.”

“Come home,” she pleaded softly, tears catching on her lashes. “I need to see you again.”

“I will,” he whispered. He pulled back, tracing her jaw delicately with his fingertips as he gazed down at her. “I will, Isii. And I will explain everything once I return. But I need your help first.” He leaned down towards her ear and she shivered as he scraped the soft flesh with his teeth. “Once you’ve helped me cross the Veil, we can be together again.”

A cold weight settled in her stomach, spreading slowly as her breaths caught. “What?”

_“Trust me, vhenan.”_

“No,” she said quickly, a sudden panic shooting through her.

_“I can give you what you want-”_

“You’re not Solas,” she hissed. She tried to push him away but he tightened his grip, pinning her beneath his weight.

“I can make you happy,” the demon whispered sweetly, Solas’s voice never wavering, soft and sincere and pleading. “Please, vhenan.”

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped, struggling to free herself.

“Ar lath ma…”

 _“Stop it!”_ she shrieked, rage and grief and panic making her body shake as she clawed at it, thrashing as her heels dug into her bedsheets, trying desperately to kick it off of her. “Stop using his face!”

“I can give you what he won’t,” it whispered with _his_ voice, using _his_ fingers to stroke her cheek. “You want your lover back? A happy reunion? You want to run off together, grow old somewhere far away from the Inquisition, somewhere where you can leave everything else behind? That’s what you dreamed of, is it not? That’s what you told him you would do when the battle had been won-”

She shut her eyes, her voice weak. _“Stop.”_

“You can have that, Isii. Pull me through to the other side and you will never be alone again.” It touched her chin, angling her head up to look at it, but she kept her eyes closed. “You are _so very tired,_ Isii. So ready for this all to be over. You saved the world. You’ve earned your happiness, have you not?” She felt it shift above her, its breath on her face as it spoke. “You would have him for the rest of your days. He would be _real_ to you, Isii. Like a dream you never have to wake up from. I would take very good care of your body in the meantime...”

There was a low, rumbling growl that sent a sudden chill through her.

Isii opened her eyes as the demon pulled back, withdrawing quickly as the shadows of her quarters shifted, moving as if by their own will before they slid back, revealing the Wolf. She froze in fear, scooting to the far end of her bed as the monstrous creature advanced. Six glowing eyes locked onto the demon, its ears flattened as its lips curled into a snarl. Another warning rumbled from deep within its chest as the hair on its neck bristled, its head lowering.

 _“Change. Now.”_ The sound was halfway between a growl and a voice, otherworldly and strange, echoing like a chorus of whispers followed each syllable. Though its lips did not move, there was no denying that it belonged to the Wolf, unmistakable in the immensity of its presence. The sound shocked her. It had never spoken before in her dreams. The Wolf had always been silent as it lurked through the corners of her consciousness, the terrifying figure that stalked her as she slept.

Isii clenched her fists, trying to stop her trembling as the Wolf faced down the demon. Desire smiled broadly, still wearing the face of Solas. “I do quite like this form,” it said, using her former lover’s tongue so slowly curl over each word. “It is so very _effective_ , after all.” The beast growled again, sharper and louder and the demon flinched, lifting its hands. Even though it wore a warm grin, Isii could see fear in its eyes. “Come now, Fen’Harel. Certainly we can behave like civilized beings? Let us talk-”

“I am not interested in negotiations,” the Wolf hissed, its eyes narrowing. “You have one chance to leave.”

The demon twisted Solas’s lips into a smirk. “It did not take much to give into temptation, did it, Dread Wolf?” the demon taunted, the tone sounding strange and alien in Solas’s voice. “You would have made for easy prey.”

The next second was chaos, an eruption of movement nearly imperceptible and barely comprehensible. The demon shifted, retreating as Solas’s facade melted away into the true face of Desire. It summoned, thrumming waves of power being drawn towards it with such speed that Isii could feel it ripple across her skin, pulled taut and released just as quickly as teeth sank into purpled flesh. The demon let out a shriek, something inhuman and primal as the Wolf tore into it. The beast was quick, so quick that Isii could barely make sense of their struggle; a writhing, snarling, bloodied thrashing that she was too horrified to look away from. She could see the demon pull away, mangled yet alive as the Fade warped, torn like a dagger through cloth. When Desire pulled the tear around itself and vanished, the Wolf did not give chase. Isii froze, staring at the back of the panting beast, her throat running dry, her heart pounding in her ears as it slowly turned its head, fur stained with ichor, six blue eyes fixing on her.

She awoke with a start, gasping. Cold sweat clung to her brow, her pulse racing at a dizzying speed. Isii closed her eyes, trying to steady her quivering. She was out of the Fade. She was safe.

She did not know why she continued to see the Wolf in her dreams. Though its form was undeniably that of Fen’Harel, she couldn’t be certain if that was its true identity until now. For a time, she thought it was a demon taking a form that it knew would frighten her. Then, she suspected it was her own mind playing cruel tricks. But as it appeared to her, night after night, she couldn’t shake the fear that the Dread Wolf had caught her scent, that he was toying with her, watching her, waiting for a moment of weakness in order to strike. Desire seemed convinced enough that it was the real Dread Wolf and the realization made her blood run cold.

Tonight, he’d chased the demon away. She could be thankful for that, though his motivations were unclear. She could conceive of no reason why he’d protect her, unless he was simply running off a scavenger from his own prey.

The thought made her shudder.

She let out a slow, shaking breath before pushing the covers back, crawling out of bed. There was no hope of getting back to sleep now. Not before she settled her nerves. She wrapped her robe around herself, padding quietly down the stairs and into the main hall. The guard on duty gave her a wordless nod. Those who had the night watch were no longer alarmed when she rose from bed in the middle of the night. More often than not, her restlessness drove her from her quarters well before dawn.

Things would get better. She just needed time.

She made her way down into the kitchen, silently suspending a kettle over the fire before preparing the herbs for her tea. Letting her fingers gently pick at the dried leaves gave her something to focus on and she appreciated the simple distraction.

This was the fourth time this month she’d drawn the attention of a demon. It was something she had experience with, of course. She’d lived through periods of her life that were far worse than what she was facing now, when demons would offer easy solutions to escape difficult truths. Even so, it was concerning. They were sensing weakness, seeing her vulnerability even as she tried to deny it. The threat Corypheus had posed had been concrete, something she could face directly, an end goal that she could set her sights on. She became the Inquisitor because she had to, because it was the right thing to do. She’d somehow convinced herself that this would all be over after she saved the world, that she could step down and live some quiet life with Solas. It all changed after the Temple of Mythal. Within months, her vision of what her life would be crumbled. After Solas rejected her, everything seemed to move so quickly, propelling her toward that final conflict, staggering to get her footing or some sense of control.

Then, it was over. The day was won and the world was saved, but there was no end to her responsibilities. She was expected to clean up the mess the magister left behind, negotiating political squabbles and religious debates, fights that had nothing to do with her and yet she was dragged into nonetheless.

She didn’t want this life. She was tired of it and saw no end.

And she no longer had Solas to turn to for support.

She was pulled out of her thoughts as she heard someone shuffling in the hall outside. She frowned, curious as she glanced toward the door. It was still far too early for the staff to begin work for the day.

Cullen looked equally confused as he breached the threshold, spotting her. “Oh,” he muttered, blinking through a thin, tired comprehension. He looked somewhat disheveled, his hair mussed, the natural curl more prominent than usual. Seeing him without his armor was a rare sight.

“Feeling peckish, Commander?” Isii asked, a halfhearted grin on her lips. “A bit of an odd time to find you in the kitchens.”

“I could say the same to you,” he said, his brow lifting.

She shrugged, trying to bury the night’s dread under a smile. “You don’t strike me as the sort of man who cooks.”

“Not with any particular skill, no,” he said, awkwardly pacing further into the room. His eyes scanned the barrel in the corner, walking over and lifting the lid.

“I doubt you’re looking for a handful of salt.”

“Apples,” he muttered distractedly.

She abandoned her tea, brushing past him and opening a crate. “Donatien moved them,” she said, tossing him one of the small, speckled fruits. He mumbled his thanks, wiping it against his shirt before taking a bite. Isii leaned against the table. “Trouble sleeping? Or are you normally sneaking into the larder in the middle of the night?”

He chewed slowly, his brow tense. “Nightmares,” he admitted quietly. “The lyrium. It… makes them worse.”

She hummed, a small sympathetic sound, returning her attention to her tea. “I know how you feel. Not about lyrium, of course,” she corrected quickly. “But… nightmares.” She slowly dripped honey into the bottom of her cup, aligning the thin wire strainer to catch the soaked herbs as she poured.

“Frequent?”

She hesitated. “They’ve gotten worse, recently. The past few years have been stressful, to say the least.”

She wouldn’t tell him about the demons who toyed with her in the Fade.  

He was, after all, a former Templar. She didn’t imagine that conversation would go well.

“But I find a walk in the gardens and some tea is enough to calm my nerves,” she continued dismissively, blowing on the cup before taking a tentative sip.

“I usually just stay in my room.”

“Well maybe a change of pace is what you need,” she offered. “Here. Try this,” she said, sliding the cup over to him. “It might help.”

He eyed the drink for a moment as she retrieved a second cup. He picked it up, slowly bringing it to his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“I made enough for two,” she said with a shrug. “Besides,” she added quietly, keeping her eyes down as she poured. “I could use the company.”

They didn’t talk much, but she supposed she preferred it that way.

If they talked, it would be about work.

And that was the last thing she wanted to think about right now.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Arasha - my happiness  
> Ma sal’shiral - my life’s journey  
> Ma uthlath - my eternal love


	2. The Bull

Dorian said this was fine.

He reassured her, this was fine.

He got annoyed when she kept asking if he really meant it.

_“Kaffas, woman, yes. It’s fine. We’re all adults here. Do whatever you want.”_

So why didn’t this feel right?

Bull’s hands were too big. His chest too broad. Muscles too hard, flesh too firm. Too tall. She wasn’t used to someone towering over her. It was strange to feel so small.

Isii tugged on his harness, pushing him to sit and he obeyed without a word, sinking down onto the end of the bed. _Better,_ she thought. This was better, having him closer to her level, face-to-face as she stood between his legs. His hands went to her waist, gentle as he pulled her closer. “We’ll take this nice and easy.” His voice was low and reassuring, but she still felt a weird tension in her belly. She smirked over her nerves.

“What?” she laughed, straddling his lap, “Think I can’t handle the mighty Iron Bull?” His hands slipped lower, cradling the curve of her backside as she sat against him. She kissed his neck, tasting the strangeness of unfamiliar sweat as she trailed along his jaw. “Hmm. Are Qunari ears as sensitive as Elven ones?” she whispered teasingly before running her tongue along the pointed curve. He hummed approvingly, hissing as she bit him.

“Harder,” he grunted. She bit down, tugging roughly on his ear with her teeth and he let out a pleasured snarl. _Alright. He likes pain. I can work with that._ She bit along the column of his neck, hard enough to mark him, alternating the sharp sting of her teeth with the flick of her tongue. She could feel his hips shift beneath her, his hands tightening their grip as he let out a low, growling hum. She grabbed one of his horns, forcing his head to turn as she slated her mouth over his own.

And felt nothing.

She could feel the press of facial hair, something wholly foreign to her. She could feel his lips, softer than she imagined, certainly pleasant in their own right as he kissed her.

But there was no flutter in her stomach. No heat between her thighs. Even sitting there with his hands on her ass felt like any other time he’d touched her. It was no more sexual than the times when he’d given her a boost while they were working together in the field.

She tried again, kissed him once more, cupped his jaw with both hands as her teeth worried his lip. She changed the angle, the pressure. Maybe she was just overthinking this but no - nothing. It felt almost clinical. Hollow. It was like kissing her brother.

She grimaced at the thought. _Gods, don’t think of it like that._

Bull was her friend and since when had she ever had a problem sleeping with a close friend? That’s all her other lovers were before Solas. Friends that she wanted to have fun with. Friends who understood rules and boundaries. Friends who didn’t make things so bloody complicated, who didn’t string her along, who didn’t confess their love, whose sex didn’t have to have meaning. That’s what she’d always had. That’s what she wanted now.

Bull felt the tension in her kiss. He pulled back, looking up into her face. “You’re not really into this, huh?”

“No, I’m good,” she defended quickly. “We’re good. I just…”

“It’s perfectly fine to change your mind. You aren’t going to offend me.”

“No, it’s...” She let out a harsh sigh, frowning as she lowered her head. “It’s not you. It’s just… I’m just not...”

He crooked his finger under her chin, gently easing her into meeting his eye. “We both know what this is about, boss.”

She let out a slow, defeated breath, her eyes closing. She felt the press of his forehead against her own and she relaxed against it, slumping into his hold. “If it’s any consolation, I think he was an asshole.” She scoffed, but Bull continued. “You thought there was a future there. Shit, _I_ thought that’s what the two of you were going for and it’s rare that anyone does anything that surprises me. And for reasons neither one of us can figure, he blindsided you and left. His loss.”

She opened her eyes as he leaned back. Bull offered a reassuring smile. “Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. The tide rises, the tide falls, the sea is unchanged. You’ll get there, Isii. He didn’t break you. Just give it time.”

She smiled weakly before nudging his brow with her own once more. “Thank you, Bull. I needed to hear that.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“You know, you can get your hands off my ass any time now.”

“But it’s such a nice ass. It fits so perfectly in my palms,” he said, giving her a tight squeeze. She laughed.

It felt good to laugh.

***

“Nothing happened.”

Dorian didn’t look up from his book. “Hmm. Performance anxiety, Bull? I’ve heard many men your age have that problem.”

Bull’s eye narrowed as he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “She needed to realize she wasn’t ready for that yet. I figured it would be better if that happened with someone who wouldn’t push once she’d changed her mind.” Dorian hummed dismissively. “I knew nothing was going to happen when I agreed to it.”

“And why are you telling me this?” Dorian asked, turning the page. “It’s not as if I care.”

“But you do.”

Dorian glanced up briefly. “Is this the part where you psychoanalyze me again?” he asked dryly, returning his gaze to his book. “I do so love that part.”

“Listen. This whole thing? Saying one thing when you mean another? I get it. You don’t want to look like you’re invested in what we’ve got going on. That’s between you and me. But you did a fine job convincing her you were okay with this, so don’t go giving her shit about it.”

Dorian closed his book. “Do you really think I’m that childish? That I haven’t been in this kind of situation before?”

“I think you’ve been in exactly this kind of situation before,” Bull said firmly. “You care about somebody, they go and sleep with someone else and you’re expected to act like that doesn’t mean anything.”

His eyes narrowed defensively, lips parted to retort but he stopped himself. Dorian closed his eyes, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingertips as he let out a slow breath. “If she hadn’t changed her mind… would you have gone through with it anyway?”

“No,” Bull said simply.“I knew it would hurt you.”

Dorian’s eyes opened. He stared up at Bull warily, studying his face. “You’re serious?” Bull nodded. Dorian looked as though he wanted to say something more, but hesitated, reconsidering before opening his book again. “Well,” he added with a huff. “Good to know then.”

Bull tipped Dorian’s chin, angling his head back, kissing him before he could object. The man bristled at first, then relaxed, giving in to his affection. When he pulled away, Bull grinned, his brow lifting. “Admit it. You like this. Us.”

“I suppose you’re tolerable,” Dorian said smoothly.

“Tolerable?”

“Sometimes.”

“Hmmm.”

“Occasionally.”

“Right.”


	3. The Wolf

Isii couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. She closed her eyes, shuddering as tears pressed onto her cheeks.

_It’s not him. It’s not him. This is just a dream. It’s just another demon._

“Are you crying? Are you honestly that childish?” Solas stood over her, his tone hardened as if it disgusted him to have to speak to her. Isii knelt, her knees having buckled beneath her, sinking into the grass of the open field, grasping fistfuls of earth as she choked back sobs.

_It’s just a demon. It’s only a demon._

“You are nothing more than a Dalish fool, deluding yourself with children’s tales. Your mind is so incomprehensibly small, your vision so narrow. You have no idea how grating it was, answering all those incessant questions. The questions of an idiot, of a fool who couldn’t grasp even the simplest concepts. How could I ever love someone like you?”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what? Telling you the truth?” he asked, the sharpness of his tongue cutting into each word. “You wanted answers, so I am giving them to you. I left because I couldn’t stand the sight of you. Because simply ending things wasn’t enough. _No._ I had to bite my tongue and watch you, day in and day out, crying and whining and whinging about how you still loved me. Had you not been such a clinging, sniveling child, then perhaps I could have continued my work.”

“You’re lying.”

“You know it’s true. Why else would you shed tears over it now?” the demon hissed through Solas’s voice. “You know that you were little more than a dalliance - and a rather pathetic one at that. I put up with your irritating nature in order to take my pleasures and even in that you couldn’t satisfy me. Why else do you think I rejected you so soon after taking you to bed?”

This time, the growl came from directly behind her, making her stomach lurch as it crawled beneath her skin.

Isii opened her eyes, freezing as the Wolf brushed against her shoulder, slowly putting himself between her and Despair. The demon stepped back quickly, its fear palpable. It was not interested in a fight. It was gone within the blink of an eye, leaving little more than a ripple in the Fade as it vanished.

Isii could barely breathe through her fear, tears still fresh on her cheeks as the Wolf glanced back to her. She could feel the weight of his eyes as she kept her gaze down, a chill running through her as she tried not to panic. Soon, he turned to leave.

“Fen’Harel.”

He paused at the sound of his name and her mouth went dry. She couldn’t bring herself to look up. “You _are_ the Dread Wolf, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice wavering. “It’s not just some trick of the Fade.”

His silence ate at her. She lifted her head, meeting his eyes as he stared. “I know you can talk-” she began, halting. Was she really demanding answers from a god?

He studied her a moment longer. “I am.” The voice was the same, but softer than before - less like a growl and more like the purring rumble of distant thunder.

She worried her lips with her teeth, trying to stop them from trembling. “Why?” she asked, barely above a whisper. “Why are you here?”

He was silent for a time, his eyes scanning her form. “The demons who are drawn to you,” he began slowly, his head tilting. “Always Desire or Despair. They wish to use what you love to their own ends. The demons of Desire wish to use you to cross over. Despair and her ilk wish to feed on your pain. You do not deserve either fate.”

“But why me?” she asked, her voice leaving her. “Why do you hunt me?”

“You think I am hunting you?” His eyes narrowed, his expression difficult to read before it relaxed. “Perhaps I should have anticipated that,” he said quietly. “Yet you deserve some explanation.” He paused, thinking. “You are unique,” he said, a strange hint of caution in his voice. “You are a mortal who can manipulate the Fade, whose power tugs at the very fabric of my domain.”

“I wasn’t trying to offend-”

“And I did not say you did,” he added firmly, “You have merely captured my attention. But I am no threat to you.”

She lowered her gaze again, her breaths shaking. “Could you-” She stopped herself, swallowing hard. It was unwise to ask anything of the Dread Wolf. She knew countless tales where elves suffered from doing precisely what she was about to do, but she couldn’t help herself. “Could I ask of you a favor? A bargain, if you must. Simply name your terms.”

He was silent once more. “What would you have of me?” he slowly asked.

“The elf,” she started haltingly. “The one the demons change into. He… He is a Dreamer. He wanders the Fade. Solas…” She took a breath, her eyes stinging as her stomach tightened. “Could you find him? Give him a message? I have no other way to-” Her throat clenched and she struggled to swallow down her grief and fear.

The Wolf took a few steps closer, close enough she could hear each breath as she tried her best to stop quivering. “Anything you say to me, he will hear.”

“And in exchange?”

He paused. “Speak,” he commanded softly.

She closed her eyes, taking an unsteady breath. “Tell him I miss him. That I need to know that he’s safe. That I…” Her voice caught, tears pressing onto her cheeks once more. “That I’m scared for him. I’m scared that he’ll be hurt or killed and that I’d never know. I need to know he's alright.”

She felt his snout brush against her neck. She opened her eyes, startled as he nudged her shoulder with his head. She froze, her brow tense as he pressed against her, uncertain of what to make of the gesture at first. She reached a tentative hand up, sinking her fingers into his fur. It was softer than she had imagined and he seemed to warm under her touch, turning to nuzzle her jaw. She let her eyes close again, shuddering as she tried to fight back tears.

“Tel’numa.” His voice came like a whisper, pulling at her like some vague remembrance she couldn’t quite place. And as insane as it was, she found herself tightening her grip, turning her face to press into the Dread Wolf's fur, breaths shaking as the weight of that truth struck her. If Solas died, she’d have no way of knowing. Even if he didn’t love her, even if he never came back to her, the thought that he could be alone, in trouble, dying or dead; it cut into her, chilling her to the core.

“What do I need to do?” she asked in a weak voice. The Dread Wolf was not benevolent or charitable. There was always a price. She knew that well.

He slowly pulled his head back, his eyes softening as he peered at her. “Do one thing for me and I will do as you ask.”

“Anything.”

_“Wake up.”_

Isii’s eyes opened. Her pillow was wet, tears slipping down the bridge of her nose as she wiped them away, confused. She was back in her quarters, moonlight streaming softly through her windows.

The Dread Wolf wanted her to wake up? Nothing more?

She rolled onto her back, her stomach in knots.

It couldn’t be as simple as that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tel'numa - do not cry


	4. From the Wolf's Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't originally intended this as the fourth installment, but I got a lot of requests to write chapter 3 from Fen'Harel's perspective.

He could tell the demon would not pose much of a threat. He could see the fear plainly on Despair’s mimicry of his own face. The fact that these creatures continued to use his form to torment her ate away at him, though he understood why.

Desire showed her what she wanted, which was him.

Despair showed her what she’d lost, which was him.

The spirit fled and he turned his attention to Isii. She was kneeling, hands pressed to the dirt, practically curled-in on herself as her body shook, her breaths ragged. Even though she’d been crying when he found her, he could read the subtle changes in her demeanor.

She was afraid of him.

Part of him had hoped that, over time, she would see that he meant her no harm. When he wasn’t chasing away demons, he simply watched over her. He wanted to be near her. When he slept, when he dreamed, it was always of her. Better to be conscious in the Fade than to replay old memories. Better to seek her out than to dream of things that would never be. He told himself he shouldn’t - that it was wrong to be there when she did not know it was him. That it was wrong to see her suffer in his absence when he could tell her he was right beside her. He was a coward, only appearing as the Wolf, but the alternative would raise too many questions.

She would ask him to come home and he did not know if he could refuse.

He watched her trembling form. All he wanted to do was hold her, to comfort her and tell her everything would be alright.

But he did not want to lie to her.

 _I should not be here,_ he told himself. _I am doing little more than frightening her._

He turned to leave.

“Fen’Harel.”

He stopped, his eyes closing. How long he’d wanted to hear that name on her lips, but never like this. Not wavering on the edge of a weak and defeated terror. He turned back to face her. Her head was down, eyes still cast away from him. Could she truly not even bring herself to look at him?

“You _are_ the Dread Wolf, aren’t you? It’s not just some trick of the Fade.”

He didn’t know what to say. He’d told himself he would only appear in her dreams to watch, not to interact. He’d broken that promise to himself when demons would torment her, but that was different. He could not stand by and do nothing in those circumstances.

But now, he could simply walk away.

She lifted her head, eyes reddened and wet with tears, lips parted and trembling. “I know you can talk-”

Her voice seemed so small, so hesitant. So unlike Isii. His Isii, who never hesitated to throw herself into battle, who could stand over a felled dragon and laugh in exhausted relief, who seemed so fearless to the point of utter recklessness - and now she cowered before him.

It killed him to see her like this.

“I am,” he answered cautiously. His voice was different enough, he hoped, that she would not recognize the sound. The voice she knew was hidden deep beneath whispers and a rumbling growl. He could not deny that part of him wanted her to hear it, though. To find him beneath the shape he now hid behind.

She showed no sign of recognition, however, chewing nervously on her lips. “Why?” she choked out. “Why are you here?”

He watched her, uncertain what he should say. “The demons who are drawn to you - always Desire or Despair,” he began slowly. “They wish to use what you love to their own ends. The demons of Desire wish to use you to cross over. Despair and her ilk wish to feed on your pain. You do not deserve either fate.”

“But why me?” Her voice left her, the sound coming out as a tight rasp in her throat. “Why do you hunt me?”

“You think I am hunting you?” he asked, his stomach growing tight. Had she really thought that for all these months, he’d simply been stalking her as prey? He lowered his gaze. “Perhaps I should have anticipated that,” he said quietly. “Yet you deserve some explanation.”

He hesitated, thinking. What explanation could he give? He did not want to lie, yet he could not bring himself to tell her the truth. Not like this.

“You are unique.” The last time he said those words to her echoed in his chest, a hollow ache of a night he greatly regretted. “You are a mortal who can manipulate the Fade, whose power tugs at the very fabric of my domain.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to offend-”

“And I did not say you did,” he added firmly, cutting off her placation. “You have merely captured my attention. But I am no threat to you.”

She looked down once more, soft curls falling over her face. “Could you-” She stopped and he could hear the tremor in her breaths. “Could I ask of you a favor? A bargain, if you must. Simply name your terms.”

He stared back at her, confused. He knew the tales the Dalish told of him, stories of the desperate or the greedy pleading to the Dread Wolf for some boon. They would always suffer for it, in the end. He would give them what they want, but would find some way to destroy them with it. Morality tales, telling the Dalish not to trust that a helping hand would truly be benevolent, that it was better to be self-sufficient. These were the legends she grew up with. That was the Dread Wolf she believed in. The thought that she would ask him for a favor now spoke only of her desperation.

“What would you have of me?” he asked.

“The elf. The one the demons change into. He… He is a Dreamer. He wanders the Fade. Solas…” She gasped for a breath, her hands shaking. “Could you find him? Give him a message? I have no other way to-” Her throat clenched, choking her words.

He wanted so desperately to comfort her, to ease her distress. He took a few steps closer. He wanted to hear her speak to him as she had, to know her mind as he would in another form. “Anything you say to me, he will hear.”

“And in exchange?”

He knew she’d expect a bargain, but he wanted nothing in return. “Speak,” he commanded gently.

“Tell him I miss him,” she said, her eyes closing, her breaths uneasy. “That I need to know that he’s safe. That I…” Her voice caught again, strangled as fresh tears fell and he wanted nothing more than to wipe them away. “That I’m scared for him. I’m scared that he’ll be hurt or killed and that I’d never know. I need to know he’s alright.”

He leaned his head down, eyes closed as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. He wanted to change, to wrap his arms around her and draw her close, to plead for her forgiveness. He never wanted to hurt her and yet he knew he was the source of her pain. He could smell her now, breathing in her scent. It wasn’t the same as it would be in waking. The Fade offered only a pale approximation and yet even that was enough to stir beneath his skin.

She stiffened at his touch, a small gasp on her lips. _Don’t fear me, vhenan,_ he plead silently. _Please don’t fear me_.  

He felt a tentative hand against the side of his throat, her fingers stroking his fur and he shuddered, turning his head to nuzzle her jaw. To feel her touch after all this time brought about the sweetest ache. He felt her grip tighten, pulling him closer. He pressed against her as her breaths shook, small sobs muffled into his coat.

“Tel’numa,” he whispered. _Don’t cry, vhenan. I am right here. I am so sorry._

Slowly, her breathing settled, enough that she could speak. “What do I need to do?”

She sounded so weak. So defeated. She was willing to make a bargain with the Dread Wolf simply to tell Solas that she was worried about him. Not to beg him to come home. Not to have the Wolf drag him back to Skyhold. She was willing to strike a deal that would put her at the Dread Wolf’s mercy simply to tell him she still cared.

Fen’Harel slowly pulled his head back, studying her face. She stared up at him and there was no question that she would do whatever he asked.

He did not want anything from her.

He simply wanted her.

He took a breath, trying to steady his voice - to be the Dread Wolf and not Solas. “Do one thing for me and I will do as you ask.”

“Anything.”

_“Wake up.”_

He pushed her from her dream, forced her from the Fade as he had that very first time they dreamt together. She dissolved, dissipating like smoke and he let the facade drop. The Wolf melted, his hands and knees pressing to the grass as his breaths shook, finally able to release the mask he’d been holding so tightly in place.

_I am so sorry, vhenan._

_I am so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tel'numa - do not cry


	5. The Rotunda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place immediately after the events of Part 3 and 4.

This was becoming a strange sort of routine.

Cullen was admittedly pleased when he saw Isii wander into the rotunda, eyes half-lidded as she clutched a small, steaming cup. She smiled weakly, pacing over to the couch as he lowered his book. “If I had known you were awake, I would have brewed a second serving,” she murmured, gesturing with her tea.

“The thought is appreciated,” he said. “Nightmares again?”

She nodded. “They’re getting better, though. Less frequent.” She curled herself into the corner of the couch beside him. “I have a feeling they may not be a problem much longer,” she added quietly. There was something odd about her demeanor that he could not quite place as her eyes scanned the room. “I see they took the scaffolding down.”

“It’s been gone a few weeks.”

She hummed into her tea. “Guess I’m not in here all that often anymore. Has the squabbling stopped about who gets to claim the room?”

He shook his head. “It’s likely going to go to the healers and herbalists, though there has been talk of expanding the library.”

Isii thought it over for a moment before shaking her head. “Give it to the herbalists,” she said. “Bookshelves would cover over the walls. It would be a shame to hide them.” He couldn’t help but note the wistful melancholy of her voice. All the same, he let it go without comment.

“I’ll be sure to pass that along.” He watched her for a moment, the corner of his lips curling. “If we’re going to keep staying up like this, perhaps I should store my chessboard nearby. I know a game would clear my head.”

She grinned. “What? You find it soothing to let me win?”

“I’ve done no such thing.”

“Trust me, Dorian was more than eager to prove to me just how terrible I am at chess,” she said with a laugh. She glared at him playfully, poking his leg with her foot. “I’m on to you, Rutherford.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps you’ve gotten lucky, then.”

She scoffed, sipping her tea. “What are you reading?” she asked, nodding toward the book. He angled it to reveal the cover and she laughed. “Hard in Hightown? Really?” She shifted against the cushions, adjusting her robe around her legs. “I’m starting to feel like the only person here who hasn’t read it. I got through Swords and Shields and called it a day.”

“Can’t say I’m going to attempt that one,” he said, grimacing. “Having seen the cover, I don’t think I’d be able to read it without thinking about Kirkwall’s Guard-Captain. Knowing that woman, I’d be fearful of having my ears boxed for simply looking at the damn thing. Honestly, I’m not sure how Varric got away with that one. The resemblance is a bit too on-the-nose.” Isii laughed. “As for Hightown, well… don’t tell Varric, but I’m not exactly a fan. I was sort of hoping it would help put me to sleep again.”

“Ouch,” she chuckled. She drained her cup, setting it on the floor. “Alright then. Let’s test this theory,” she said with a grin. “Read some to me and we’ll see if I pass out.”

She shifted toward him to get comfortable and he instinctively stretched his arm along the back of the couch. “The plot is a bit convoluted. A couple murders, some conspiracy nonsense. Also I’m fairly certain half the characters are using aliases…”

“I’ll pick up the important bits,” she said, leaning her back against his side, her feet tucked next to the arm of the couch. She angled her head, turning to glance at him. “Is this alright?”

“Fine,” he said haltingly, clearing his throat. He frowned as she settled, struggling for a moment to find his place on the page. He was right at the part where Captain Belladonna was throwing herself at Guardsman Donnen in order to distract him while her accomplice stripped the crime scene of valuables.

 _Sounds like something Isabela would do,_ he thought dryly before clearing his throat and beginning to read.

The story plod along, much as he had expected. Belladonna’s attempts at seduction were met with the grisled seriousness of a Guardsman two weeks from retirement. Varric did seem to enjoy repeatedly pointing out the length of Donnen’s tenure for reasons Cullen couldn’t quite grasp. Jevlan continued to be a nervous and untested recruit, seemingly there only to constantly question how daring Donnen’s risk-taking was. The rather flighty elf Maysie made her second appearance in the novel, revealing she’d been working alongside Belladonna in her schemes. Cullen assumed it was meant to take him by surprise, but he remained rather unmoved. It was just another in a long list of betrayals and tricks that littered this fictional version of Kirkwall.

He paused after two chapters, listening to her breathing. Isii hadn’t moved in quite some time and he could feel the weight of her slumped against him. He couldn’t see her face from this angle to tell whether or not she was truly asleep. “I take it that worked?” he asked softly, amusement tugging at his lips when she didn’t answer. He lowered his arm from the back of the couch, touching her shoulder, trying to rouse her.

She responded with a small sound, a half-muttered whimper. Isii turned her head, hair falling over her features as she rested her cheek against the side of his chest, letting out a sigh as she settled again. His hand hesitated. He whispered her name, another vain attempt to wake her. He tentatively reached down, drawing her hair back from her face and tucking it behind her shoulder. She let out another slow breath.

She looked peaceful enough.

And he knew she had not been sleeping well.

Cullen let his eyes return to the book, reading silently as he heard the slow stirrings of early morning echo in the main hall.

She would wake in her own time.

He decided to let her rest.


	6. Changes

Solas was only the first to leave.

Vivienne did not stay long, but that didn’t exactly come as a surprise. She already had what she needed from them - a strong association with a world-saving organization that could add weight to her political maneuverings in Orlais. Isii didn’t hold that against her. She’d had her own goals from the beginning and made it abundantly clear that she didn’t respect her leadership. Isii washed her hands of it.

Leliana was next. Isii attended her coronation, despite her discomfort being surrounded by people who thought her a heathen, a herald, a heretic or all of the above. She took comfort in knowing that Leliana was bound and determined to remake the Chantry in her image. If what she’d said all those months ago still held true, the world was going to change drastically - and hopefully for the better. Isii was proud to see her take the Sunburst Throne.

Even so, her presence was certainly missed.

Dorian would leave, from time to time. He always returned with gifts from his homeland and stories of Tevinter debauchery. His trips were officially called diplomatic missions and he was more than happy to take the stipend offered to him by the Inquisition. Even so, Isii gave him the freedom to do whatever he wanted with it. He knew his homeland better than anyone there and his desire for reformation in the Imperium was genuine. He was always good about writing whenever he was away.

Varric left in stages. At first, he simply took trips, leaving to visit the Free Marches and help in the recovery efforts. Slowly, these absences grew longer and longer and over time, without word or comment, it became clear that his trips back to Skyhold were visitations, not the act of someone returning home.

As much as she missed him, Isii knew he had better things to do. Like her, he’d been roped into the Inquisition against his will.

Varric could go home.

Isii still couldn’t.

She’d sent letters to Deshanna. They wrote to each other regularly and they discussed the lives of her clanmates that she’d missed out on for the past few years. She learned who’d become bonded, the names of the newest children. She laughed over the details of how some of her friends and former lovers were adjusting to parenthood. Deshanna said she’d started training a new First - a precaution only. A backup. Someone to step in if something happened and Isii couldn’t return to take over as Keeper. Isii agreed that this was the right thing to do, but even so felt a sharp pang of regret and loss. She’d spent over ten years of her life preparing to be Keeper. Before the Conclave, she’d already accepted a number of Deshanna’s responsibilities, leading and protecting their clan in tandem as she readied herself for that final transition.

But whenever Isii looked in the mirror and saw the bare skin of her face, she knew it was better this way. She still hadn’t visited her clan. It was long overdue and she knew that realistically, she could make time to take a trip to Wycome. She put it off because she didn’t want to see the looks on their faces when they saw her without her vallaslin. She didn’t want to try to explain to them that a man she’d trusted more than anyone in the world told her a truth that could not be proven. They would think her a fool for forsaking her faith for some flat ear.

It was a conversation she wasn’t ready to have.

***

Isii could hear someone pushing their way past her bedroom door. “I’m letting myself in,” she heard a familiar voice call out. “Do tell me you’re dressed. It’s a bit early in the morning for that sight, I think.”

A broad grin pinched at her cheeks as she set the scissors down on her desk, quickly rushing over to greet Dorian at the top of the stairs. He met her hug with equal enthusiasm, though broke his hold quickly to stare into her face. “Sweet Maker, what happened to you?”

He tilted her chin with his hand, turning her so he could inspect the fresh scars that stretched from her brow to the base of her cheek. They’d been deep wounds, two slashes that cut jagged lines down the length of her face. “You should see the other guy,” she said dryly, arching her damaged eyebrow.

“I leave for a few weeks and you get yourself mangled.”

“Let’s just say negotiations with a certain Ferelden faction fell apart,” she said, drawing away from his touch. “Apparently they are not overly fond of heretics.”

Dorian scoffed, pinching a sheered lock of hair from her brow. “Are they responsible for this too, or did Sera attack you with a pair of scissors?”

Isii laughed, thumping him across the chest. “I was in the middle of cutting it, you tit.” She turned back toward her desk, readjusting the mirror she had propped up on top of it before sitting down. “I figured it might help make the scars less noticeable if I cut it to the side,” she muttered, brushing her fingers back through her hair before picking up the scissors once more.

“Well, yes. Muck up your hair and no one will even notice the scars.” He frowned, his eyes narrowing as he watched her hack off another chunk. “Have you ever cut your own hair before?”

She glanced over to him. “No.”

“It shows.” He sighed, offering his palm. “Hand them over.”

She looked at him incredulously, laughing. “What, like you’ll do better?”

“Oh please. You assume I let just anyone touch my hair?” She handed him the scissors and he stepped closer, slipping his fingers loosely into her locks. “Can’t say I’ve ever cut a woman’s hair before. Certainly nothing this curly. But I can’t do half as bad a job as I’d imagine you would,” he added dryly as she chuckled. He gathered her hair into a low ponytail, binding it with a cord from her desk. “But if you start telling people I’m your hairdresser, I promise you a good sock in the teeth.”

She gestured that her lips were sealed, watching as he carefully cut away the bound hair. Curls coiled, loosened from their weight as the cut strands fell away from the binding. He held up the fistful of hair, appraising it for a moment. “I know some wigmakers in Minrathous who would pay a pretty stack of coins for this,” he said with a laugh.

“Ah, yes. It’s my life long dream to have my hair on the sweaty head of some slave-owning Tevinter shem,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her lips. “I think I’ll pass.” She looked into the mirror, giggling slightly as she shook her head. “Creators,” she said, playing the rough cut through her fingers. “I didn’t realize it was so… bouncy.”

“Have you never worn your hair short?”

“I’ve only trimmed it whenever necessary, but it’s always been long.”

“Well,” he said, pulling a section of hair loose in order to make a finer cut, “perhaps it’s time for a change.”

Isii stared into the mirror, eyes scanning the new scars, her skin free from her vallaslin, an unruly mop of choppy waves now resting loose above her shoulders. It was hard to even see the woman she’d been before the Conclave.

 _It’s just another change,_ she told herself.

_Everything changes eventually._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something short and sweet.


	7. Kadan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief chapter for Bull and Dorian.

Bull could tell that something wasn’t quite right.

Dorian’s hands had grasped too tightly. His kisses were too rushed. His submission was too eager, too willing, lacking all of the playful resistance and biting banter he usually offered. In the aftermath he laid beside Bull, his body tense despite the embrace of his lover’s arm loosely draped against his back. Dorian leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder, his face obscured as his fingers worried themselves nervously against Bull’s chest.

He could tell that Dorian wanted to say something, but wouldn’t. He gave him plenty of time to work up the nerve before deciding some coaxing was in order.  

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“Is that really so bizarre?”

“Normally it’s hard to get you to shut up.”

The mage’s head lifted at that, irritation stitched into his brow. Bull softened it with a wry smile and Dorian settled again, sighing.

“Want to tell me what this is about?”

“Not particularly.”

They fell silent again. Bull ran his hand against Dorian’s back, slowly kneading his fingertips between his lover’s shoulder blades. Even with the cooling sweat of sex on his skin, the mage always felt so warm lying next to him. He sensed a small amount of his tension melting away, Dorian’s fingers stilling against his chest as his breaths slowed.

“I’m going to have to leave again soon.”

The statement was small and quiet. “I figured as much,” Bull replied.

“This time…” He could feel Dorian’s brow tightening as he pressed his face to Bull’s shoulder. “I don’t know when I will be coming back.”

Bull didn’t respond at first. It wasn’t really that much of a surprise, was it? He’d seen how Dorian’s trips to Minrathous were growing more frequent and longer each time he went away. He saw where this was headed months ago. Even if Dorian didn’t know it - eventually, he wouldn’t return at all. The mage lifted his head again, studying his face in his silence. “Do you really have nothing to add to that?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Dorian opened his mouth to speak but halted when no words came. He sat upright, taking a steadying breath as Bull’s arm fell to his side. “I suppose it’s time that we face facts,” he said firmly, not meeting his eye. “This… _us_. There’s no future in it.”

“You calling it quits?”

“Isn’t it inevitable?”

Bull’s eye narrowed, his brow lifting. “Is that really what you want?”

“Don’t you?” Dorian studied his face, his brow tense. “Would you really want yourself tied to someone you can hardly ever see?”

Bull reached over, brushing the back of Dorian’s hand with his thumb. “If you would let me, I would go with you, kadan.”

His head tilted, eyes narrowing. “Kadan?”

Bull placed Dorian’s palm over his heart, enveloping his hand with his own. “Kadan,” he repeated, nodding.

He watched as understanding crept slowly over the mage’s features, his apprehension melting, replaced by a new tension. His brow creased, lips pursed as he averted his gaze, his eyes growing glossy. He let out a sharp laugh, a forced and breathy sound, shaking his head.

“Your sentimentality is a terrible influence, you know,” he said, giving a strained smile as he leaned down. Bull pulled him closer, guiding him until he laid against his chest.

“Can’t you just picture it, though?” Bull said with a smirk. “All those Vints shitting themselves as you march into Minrathous with me on your arm?”

“That would certainly piss off my parents,” Dorian laughed. “A tempting prospect in and of itself.”

Bull cupped his hand along the side of his head, his thumb tracing his temple. “I am under no impression that this’ll be easy,” he said quietly. “But as long as you want me, I’m yours.”

Dorian smiled – the first real smile of the evening – before leaning down to capture his lips with his own. His kiss was a soft, gentle thing, more delicate than any of the one’s they’d shared that night. When he pulled away, Dorian stared down at him, his brows still drawn tightly. “I love you.” It wasn’t an easy thing to say. Bull rewarded him with another kiss before pressing the mage’s brow to his own.

“I know.”


	8. Letters and Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains a minor spoiler for Trespasser. Makes references to [A Way to Warm You.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2908370)

Isii waited for their laughter to die down before she cleared her throat, reading from the letter once more. “As difficult as it was to find a suitable gift for a woman such as yourself, Seeker - I have taken the liberty of selecting a few books straight from the shelves of Minrathous that should cater to your preferences. Perhaps you may finally refine your tastes beyond the paltry romances Varric has been able to scrape together.” The tavern was filled with another amused round of chuckling as Cassandra’s face hardened, her cheeks growing a violent shade of red, dancing the line between embarrassment and fury.

Isii paced the length of the table, careful not to kick anyone’s drink as she continued. “And to our dashing Commander, my gift is self-explanatory. If I return to find you a stubbly mess, I will take it as a personal insult. Those blades did not come cheap, you know. If you spent nearly as much time on your face as you do your hair, this would not be an issue.” Isii glanced down to Cullen who simply rolled his eyes, his lips pressed into a reluctant grin as he took a sip from his tankard.

“And finally, the Iron Bull. To you and your Chargers, three casks of the finest ale north of Vol Dorma. Do try not to consume it all over the course of a single evening. Bull - I trust my other gift to you was delivered discreetly, as instructed. For Maker’s sake, do keep that between the two of us.” A buzz of knowing laughter rose from the corner of the room where the Chargers sat with their leader. Bull made no comment. “Know that it comes from the heart - and I look forward to seeing you again as soon as I can, amatus.” Krem’s brows lifted at the word. He reached over, giving Bull’s shoulder a firm punch. The qunari simply smiled into his drink.

“This will be the first First Day I have spent away from Skyhold since this all began and the feeling is rather surreal. I am certain you are all suffering through my absence. Hopefully the gifts can soften the blow somewhat. Know that I miss you all, though admittedly I am not exactly yearning for the mountain of snow I am certain you are being buried under as I write this. Feeling the sun on your skin without ice melting into your boots is a marvelous thing - you should all try it sometime.”

Isii grinned as she flipped the letter over in her hands. “Hail to the Herald, the Inquisition, and all that nonsense. This past year has certainly been an eventful one - and I could not have chosen a finer group of people to spend the better part of it with. Until we meet again. Signed, Dorian Pavus.”

“To Dorian!” a voice rang out and the toast spread through the tavern with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Isii stooped down to retrieve her drink, lifting it high before draining the glass. It was hard not having him there. It was hard to look around the room and see just how many faces were missing. But still, this was a time to mark the year that had passed and look ahead to the year to come. It was a night for optimism - even if it was well-lubricated with alcohol.

“Alright, enough with the pleasantries, yea?” Sera said with a drunken snort, slapping Bull across the chest. He nodded knowingly, smirking as he rose from his seat. Isii barely noticed him crossing the room as she leaned down, gripping Cullen’s shoulder for balance as she hopped off of the table. Her feet barely hit the floor before she was lifted up again, squealing.

“No! No, no, no, not this year!” She grabbed a fistful of fur from around the Commander’s neck, desperate to keep herself grounded as the qunari hauled her into the air.

“It’s a tradition!” Bull said with a grin. Isii tried to pull herself down but Cullen grabbed her wrists, chuckling.

“I suppose you can’t argue with tradition.”

Isii’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare-”

The Commander smiled. “It’s good for morale.” With that, he pulled her hands away, laughing with the others as she lost her grip.

“Traitor!” she shouted, writhing as she was slung over Bull’s shoulder. Cold winds bit at her skin as he kicked the door open, dragging her outside and into the heavy snowfall. A drunken, cheering procession followed as the Inquisitor shrieked, laughing, kicking uselessly into the air. She couldn’t see where Bull was taking her, but she knew precisely what would come next. Within moments she felt the sudden weightlessness of falling before she landed flat on her back into the biggest snow drift he could find. It buried her completely, blocking out all light, burning her skin with the cold as she sputtered, spitting, flailing as she attempted to dig herself out. She could hear the hooting and shouting of her followers as she finally breached the surface, shaking snow from her hair, already feeling the melting chill trickling beneath her jacket.

“Oh you’re all dead!” she hissed, gleefully throwing herself to her feet, scooping an armload of snow and sending it flying.

The war started quickly. Those wishing to stay neutral scrambled to reach the edges of the courtyard, though it provided no guarantees that they wouldn’t become targets themselves. Others rushed forward, stooping down and loading their hands with snow, weaponizing their surroundings. Sera was ready the second Isii retaliated, sending a hard toss straight at her head that nearly sent the Inquisitor flying off her feet as she dodged. Isii ran - chasing, fleeing and dodging in turn, trying not to get pelted in the process. Every First Day devolved into a snow fight eventually, ever since they first marked the holiday in Skyhold. Every year, Isii found herself the target of nearly everyone who called her their leader. She supposed it was cathartic, in its own way.

She was winded by the time she spotted him. Cullen was lingering on the edges of the yard, clearly disinterested in getting involved. His eyes widened as he saw her approach, snow packed tightly between her hands. He quickly retreated, running for the stairs that led to the main hall.

“What’s the problem, Commander?!” she shouted, laughing as her snowball struck him square in the back of the head. “It’s good for morale!” He turned, bending down to grab some snow to defend himself with but she was too quick. She barreled into him, knocking him onto his back. Within seconds she was sitting on top of him, shoveling snow over his head while he sputtered, laughing. She raked her fingers roughly through his hair, rubbing until it formed cold, wet curls.

“There you go, _Curly_ ,” she said, giggling breathlessly. “Living up to your namesake.”

He didn’t get the chance to retaliate before Sera dumped a bucket of cold water over the pair of them.

Isii nearly shrieked, her body stiffening above his before her eyes narrowed onto the elf. “You little shit!” She crawled off of his lap, laughing and shivering as she tore after the rogue, Sera’s shrill giggling ringing through the courtyard as she fled.

***

Isii was trying her best not to let her teeth rattle as she made it up the stairs into her quarters. She was surprised to find her room had been prepared for her - the fireplace blazed with a welcoming flame, a large soaker tub set up in front of it. The servant responsible was putting fresh bedding into place by the time she reached the top step.

She couldn’t help but smile.

“You were supposed to have the night off, Ena.” The elf appeared startled as she turned to regard the Inquisitor. Isii stooped over, her numbed hands trying to worry wet boots off of her feet.

“It was no trouble, Lady Herald,” she replied with a polite nod of her head.

Isii’s brows lifted. “You’ve been with me, what? Six months now? I’d really rather you start calling me Isii.”

Ena studied her for a moment, her brow furrowing. “That wouldn’t be appropriate-”

“Please,” the Inquisitor added with a laugh, shaking her head as she unsteadily wobbled, tugging at her second boot. “You have your job to do here, just like I do. I don’t want you acting like I’m your master.” She freed her foot, tossing the soaked leather aside. “I’d much rather we be on a first-name basis.”

The woman hesitated for a moment before nodding. “As you wish. I prepared a bath for you. There are runestones in the dish over there. They should keep the water nice and hot when you’re ready. There is also a fresh pot of tea on your desk to help you warm up.”

Isii smiled broadly. “Thank you. That was very kind of you.” Ena bowed her head before returning her attention to the bedding. Isii took a few brisk steps over to her desk, trying to ignore the cold trickle of water against her bare feet as she went to pour herself a cup. The heat of the teapot felt soothing against her hands, the cup warming her skin as she lifted it to her lips. She glanced down, frowning as she spotted a small box sitting atop her desk, bound with a braided leather cord.

“What’s this?” Isii asked, picking it up.

Ena looked up but offered little more than a shrug. “I was instructed to deliver it to you. Another gift on account of the holiday, I’d assume.”

Isii hummed distractedly, turning the box in her hands as she took another sip of her tea. It was a simple wooden thing - wide, yet rather shallow. She shook it, hearing the soft clunk of something shifting inside, a hard object of some sort tapping against its confines. She worried the binding loose with her thumb, pushing the lid back.

Ena’s head snapped upward when she heard the crash. The teacup lay shattered at Isii’s feet, the wooden box tumbling from her hand, clattering as it hit stone. The Inquisitor stood frozen, her fingers pressed to her lips, her eyes wide as she stared down at it.

“Is something wrong?”

Isii didn’t acknowledge her. The woman’s voice felt distant as her stomach began to sink, twisting in her gut. She slowly crouched down, peeling back the overturned box. Her hand trembled as she curled her fingers around the familiar wolf’s jawbone, wrapped in a worn leather cord.  

“Isii?”

There was a folded piece of parchment tucked inside the box. She pried it loose, flattening it, quickly scanning the text. The familiar handwriting alone made her eyes grow wet, thickening with tears, her breaths growing unsteady. She looked up, narrowing her gaze sharply on Ena who stared back at her, concerned. “Who gave this to you?”

The servant shook her head. “I don’t know. I found it on my tray in the kitchens with a note saying it was for you.”

“The note,” Isii said quickly, rising to her feet, the jawbone clenched in her fist. “Do you still have it?”

Ena nodded, slipping her hand into the pocket of her dress, retrieving a balled-up wad of paper. Isii took it quickly, peeling it open, yet it told her little more than what the woman had already said. It was short. Straightforward. Written in an unfamiliar hand. _Deliver to the Inquisitor._

Isii took a shaky breath, her brow furrowing, her eyes wide. “Did I do something wrong?” Ena asked, her voice tense.

“Go find Josephine,” Isii said, her voice hardening. “Tell her I want a detailed inventory of everything that has come into Skyhold in the past week.”

“Should I give her a reason?”

She paused, staring down at the jawbone in her hand. “Tell her Solas sent me something. I need to know where it came from.”

Ena nodded despite her confusion, turning quickly toward the stairs. Isii barely heard the woman leave, hardly conscious of the sound of her door opening and closing behind her. Her legs felt weak, her body still shivering from the wet clothes that clung to her. She sank down onto the edge of her bed, not caring about the melted snow soaking into her blankets as she opened the letter once more, reading it over again.

_Isii -_

_I am sorry._

_Those words are insufficient. I know that. I can think of no way to truly express the depths of my regret. So much of your suffering is the result of my actions - and I do not believe that I am capable of forgiving myself for that._

_Know that the decision to leave your side was not one made easily. Know that if there had been any other path, I would have gladly taken it. It was never my plan to disappear so suddenly or without word - though it seems that reality rarely corresponds with my intentions._

_I am safe. I am as safe as I can be, given the circumstances. Please, do not let fear for my well-being pain you further._

_I know you want an explanation. You deserve that much and more - but that is something I cannot give. Not yet. Perhaps one day - and I look forward to being given that chance._

_You are in my thoughts - as you will always be._

_Mi’nas’sal’inan._

_Ane i ne bell’annar ma vhenan._

_Ir abelas._

_Solas_

Her tears felt hot against the frozen skin of her cheeks, her body shivering hard against the cold as she read the letter again. And again. Over and over, as if somehow it would say something more than a vague apology that left her with only more questions. She tightened her grip on the jawbone until the teeth dug into her palm, her breaths ragged as the last of her composure gave way.

She didn’t want this stupid trinket. She wanted _him_. She wanted to know why he left, where he was. Part of her hated him for this. _Mi’nas’sal’inan._ She felt the same way - it killed her to be apart from him and he could heal that pain for both of them if he would just come back. He didn’t even give her a way to contact him, no way to reply, no way to send him something in return.

Just an apology and a declaration of love from a man who was determined to remain a ghost.

Still, the Dread Wolf had answered her plea.

She had her answer.

Solas was still alive.

***

Slender fingers made quick work of deciphering the missive, writing notes in the spaces between words to clarify their meaning. The cipher they used was simple enough for him to decode quickly. It did not need to be complicated. He knew none of the Nightingale's spies would recognize the pattern in a code based around ancient Elvhen. Even if they had intercepted the letter, he was more than aware of the fact that they no longer had anyone within their organization who could translate it.

Even to a modern expert, the text would appear to be little more than incomprehensible gibberish.

_Dread Wolf -_

_Still no new spymaster. It appears the Nightingale intends to continue her work from the Sunburst Throne. Her underlings are no threat. Further infiltration will not be a problem._

_Though the Inquisition itself still has an impressive number of followers, the group at its core is dwindling. Much of the Inquisitor’s social support has left, though she does appear to be growing closer to some who remain in the aftermath. Rainier, Pavus, Tethras, and Madame de Fer appear to be permanently displaced. The elf wanders in and out, distracted by the requests of her “friends”. The Bull and his men often take missions that make them scarce. The Seeker is occupied with the task of rebuilding her order. Cole is the only one consistently remaining by her side, yet even he is beginning to take his own independent assignments. That leaves only her Ambassador and her Commander._

_This has left her vulnerable._

_Your instructions in terms of her care have proven effective. While her mood has darker moments, overall these acts of kindness have soothed her. I believe there is an opportunity for me to grow closer to the target. She does not have many friends left. Given coaxing, I may be able to convince her to confide in me. I await your orders on whether or not to take advantage of this._

_I delivered the package personally. As you predicted, her first instinct was to try and track its source. The falsified records are already in place for the Ambassador to find. No doubt the Nightingale’s people will be consulted. They will find nothing out of the ordinary and their trail will lead them to a dead end._

_Her reaction to your “gift” was powerful. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost. Without knowing the full context of the object’s meaning, it was difficult for me to discern whether or not she was frightened or merely unnerved. She was clearly trying to hold back tears by the time I left._

_To see a reaction that intense to a gesture that small means she may be far more vulnerable than I had originally assessed. If your intent was to rattle her composure, you more than succeeded._

He stared at that final line for a time, rereading it as a slow ache settled in his chest.

He closed his eyes, taking a measured breath as he folded the missive once more, placing it carefully among his other reports.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> mi’nas’sal’inan - In the simplest terms, this means “I miss you” - though the concept of missing someone is expressed in a way that is harder to translate into English. Literally, it means “I feel the knife again in my soul” - a feeling of loss that is deeply personal and painful.  
> Ane i ne bell’annar ma vhenan - you are with will forever be my love.  
> Ir abelas - I am sorry.


	9. Lies in the Past

Once, Cullen had taken comfort in the fact that their sleepless nights together were becoming less frequent. While part of him missed whiling away the hours in comfortable company while Skyhold slept, it was a relief to know that Isii was resting easier.

The Inquisitor had been healing. It was a slow process, but she’d made progress. She never spoke of the visions her nightmares tormented her with - but given the harrowing crisis they’d survived, it was unsurprising that she couldn’t quite walk away from their victory without some lingering trauma. He understood that, far more intimately than most. He understood the distance in her gaze as her eyes stared off into absent space, some thought drawing her attention away from their advisory meetings. He understood the dark circles under her eyes. He understood the false smiles and quick reassurances that everything was fine.

It clearly wasn’t. But if it made things easier for her to pretend that they were, he would give her that courtesy.

Day by day, some of that darkness seemed to chip away. While it was clear that she may never again possess the light-hearted air of the woman he’d met in Haven, she eventually fell back into the rhythm of running the Inquisition. The demands of her office took less of a toll. Her late-night visitations became less commonplace. Her smile returned, though it was more of a rare sight than before and her laughter offered him some sense of ease that everything would eventually be set right. Cullen had found reassurance in her improvement. It would take time to heal, but slowly, things were getting better.

But after First Day came and went, he could see a stark change. Isii focused her full attention once more on finding their runaway mage, though their efforts repeatedly proved fruitless. Their attempts to discover precisely how Solas had managed to sneak a package into Skyhold turned up nothing of use - a revelation that Isii did not take well. Josephine would not address the issue directly, though Cullen caught the ambassador’s concerned glances. There was little they could do to help and the strain it was putting on the Inquisitor was plainly written across her face. He could see the weariness in her eyes once more, the way her brows furrowed in thought as she worried her fingers over the teeth of the jawbone that now permanently hung around her neck.

Cullen found himself hating the damn thing.

The man had been gone for months. Hadn’t he caused her enough grief?

Cullen did not consider himself a jealous man. He’d borne Solas no ill-will in those early days when it was becoming clear that his friendship with Isii was growing more intimate. Yet now he could not help but wonder what would have happened if he had made his interests known - if he hadn’t been so content to hold his tongue for the sake of propriety. She was his commanding officer. Making any gestures to change their professional relationship wouldn’t have been appropriate. But maybe if he’d said something, done something, _anything_ but sit quietly by and watch her fall in love with someone else - maybe she wouldn’t have chosen to be with that damned apostate who left her so wounded in the end.

He stopped himself each time his thoughts wandered down that path. No one could change what had happened. And to imply that some unsolicited profession on his part would have swayed her choices was an insult to her more than anything.

Isii had flirted with Cullen, on occasion. Or at least, in those early days, he _thought_ she was flirting. Smirking questions about Templar vows of chastity, sly glances and raised eyebrows, moments in training where she didn’t seem inclined to keep any distance between them as he corrected her form with a blade. He’d been so surprised by the thought that she would show any interest in him that it wasn’t until weeks later that he realized she offered those same suggestive jokes and open manner with more than a few of their companions. It was her nature to charm, to set others at ease, to tease them so they would treat her like a real person and not some holy figure - and he felt so stupid for not seeing it before. Her attraction to him was something he had fabricated. He was sure of that now.

It wasn’t as though he’d been pining for her over the course of their time together. Nothing as serious as that. He admired her. She was brave. Self-sacrificing. A good strategist who listened to her advisers and yet did not allow herself to be bullied into any decision. She cared about her people and did not take their sacrifices lightly. When he thought she might have feelings for him, it was hard not to recognize that she was the sort of woman he could easily love. And he did, in his way. She was a good friend. She cared about him - believed in him - but nothing more. And he was content with that. He’d accepted that fact long ago. He was happy to have her companionship just as it was and had no desire to spurn it simply because her feelings did not match his own.

But seeing how Solas had hurt her - watching how she still clung to the memory of him, after all he had done to so carelessly cast her aside -

It stung far more than it had any right to.

***

Cullen heard the banging clamor moments after passing through Josephine’s empty office, his steps quickening as he made his way to the war room. He pushed through the door cautiously, frowning. Isii was leaning back against the edge of the table, a piece of paper grasped in one hand while the other clenched fiercely at her scalp in frustration. Her shoulders were tense as she glared down at the message, her breaths short and tight. Map markers were scattered across the floor - likely swept aside in anger moments before.

“Is something the matter?” A stupid question, he realized as soon as he gave it voice. She didn’t answer, her eyes darting up to meet his own only briefly before returning to the paper in front of her. She sighed, her clasped fist releasing strands of her hair. There was a quiet resignation weighing down on her shoulders as she lowered her hand to her side.

“Do you…?” He hesitated, watching her, uncertain what to say. “Should I come back another time?”

She considered the offer for a moment before giving a weak shake of her head. “No.”

He quietly pushed further into the room, letting the door fall closed behind him with a gentle thump. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

Her lips parted to answer before closing once more, her eyes never lifting from the letter. She frowned before silently holding it out to him. Cullen stepped closer, smoothing the paper out between his gloved hands - it was already well-abused, the edges torn and creased from her grip. He recognized the delicate scroll of Leliana’s handwriting as his eyes scanned the page.

 _Inquisitor,_  
  
_I wish I had better news to report. Despite our repeated efforts, Solas’s location remains elusive. Though my agents were able to determine that he fled westward, whatever trail he may have left has long since fallen cold. After all this time, I doubt there will be any new revelations on that front. His smuggled gift to you has not shed any new light on his possible whereabouts. Admittedly, his ability to elude us so effectively has only heightened my suspicions concerning his intentions. He had no reason to run from us that I can discern - and that leaves me with an uncomfortable amount of unease._

_In light of this, I renewed my agents’ efforts to verify his history. Though he was never very forthcoming with details of his life, he could not avoid answering some of my questions about his past when he first came to us. He gave me the name of his childhood home - a village that he reassured me was inconsequential and far too small to appear on any map._

_In the hopes that perhaps his past may shed some light on his current motives, I had my people continue to search for the village he named. The reports back have been… upsetting, to say the least. While such a place does, in fact, exist - it is a ruin. There haven’t been any settlements there for centuries. The only reason we know that this is the same place he spoke of is because of its name - preserved only in degraded form within ancient Tevinter texts._

_Whoever Solas truly is, wherever he came from, he has deceived us from the very start._

_I apologize for not investigating this more thoroughly while Solas was still serving the Inquisition. It was an oversight on my part. He gave me no reason to suspect that his offer of aid was not genuine - and he did play a crucial role in our victory._

_I know this is not what you want to hear. I am sorry if this causes you any further pain - but I fear we cannot trust whatever we thought we knew about Solas._

_Know that my agents will continue to search._

_May the Light of the Maker offer you some sense of peace._

_Signed,_

_Divine Victoria_

“He lied to me,” Isii murmured, her voice hushed as she turned back toward the map, bracing her hands against it.

“It would appear so,” Cullen said gravely.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” she continued, worrying her lip with her teeth. “If he was going to lie, why select a place that couldn’t possibly be his true home? Why not name some large city? Someplace with an alienage big enough where we could reasonably believe he’d go unremembered? He had to know there was a chance that Leliana would go searching for it - so why risk us discovering the lie?”

“I can’t pretend I’ve ever understood the way Solas thinks,” Cullen said. “Maybe he was put on the spot. Had to come up with something quickly.”

The furrow in Isii’s brow deepened, her finger brushing over a point on the map a short ways north of Haven. “No,” she said, her voice taking a bitter edge. “No, he was apparently _very_ good at lying. I doubt he’d be that sloppy.”

“Isii-”

“He talked about growing up there,” she said, her voice straining. “He told me…” Isii lowered her head, her eyes closing. “I should have pushed. I knew he was avoiding my questions. I knew he didn’t want to talk about his life in any great detail. I knew it and yet-”

“You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“Can’t I?” she asked, lifting her gaze to meet his. “I was closer to him than anyone else, Cullen. I had every opportunity to see the signs and I ignored them.” She scrubbed her hand over her face, her fingers pinching at the bridge of her nose. “I thought I was doing him a kindness. I thought there was something painful that he didn’t want to talk about, not that he was actively hiding something.”

“Like you said,” he offered reassuredly, “he was very good at lying. He fooled us all.”

Her eyes fell to the map once more. “I suppose.”

Cullen stared at her for a time, his lips pressed into a thin line. “We don’t know why he lied,” he offered. “Perhaps there wasn’t anything nefarious behind it. We shouldn’t jump to that conclusion without learning more.”

Isii’s hand absentmindedly went to the jawbone hanging from her neck, staring down at the table as her fingers idly traced the dull teeth. “I need to go there, Cullen,” she said firmly. “There has to be a reason he chose this place. Maybe if I go… maybe I’ll see something that Leliana’s agents wouldn’t have noticed.”

He glanced at the map, considering possible routes. “I would not have you travel alone, Inquisitor,” he advised. “Given that you have allied yourself so publically with Empress Celene, you may not be seen as entirely welcome in some of the Fereldan borderlands.”

“Bull and the Chargers are off on assignment,” Isii said, shaking her head. “I could take Cole with me-”

“That may not be enough.” He watched her for a moment - studying the sadness in her eyes, the utter confusion and vulnerability as she stared down at the map, desperate for whatever answer she hoped to find in some ancient ruin. “Would you like me to go with you?”

She glanced up, seemingly surprised by the suggestion as he awkwardly shifted his weight. “I am somewhat familiar with the area,” he continued. “I would feel better knowing you had proper backup in case something were to go wrong.”

Her expression warmed. Just a little. Just enough that the corner of her lips lifted as she nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “I would appreciate that.”

“Of course,” he added with a bow of his head. “I am at your disposal, Inquisitor.”

She chuckled, a weak and quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re never going to stop calling me that, are you?”

“It’s a very old habit to break,” he said, smiling softly.

She looked at the map once more, her lip pinched between her teeth. “I don’t really need my Commander to go with me,” she murmured. “But I… I could really use my friend.” Her eyes lifted and there was a coy tug at her mouth as her brow arched. “Do you think he might be available?”

His couldn’t help but allow his smile to widen. “Always,” he promised.


End file.
